The MLB Pride cap controversy shows players’ true colors. That’s a good thing.

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On Thursday, Pennsylvania Minor League Baseball team The York Revolution announced it would forfeit its game after some players said they would not wear special pride jerseys in celebration of Pride month, coinciding with the club’s annual Pride Night event.

You might think that I, an openly gay, nationally syndicated sports-talk host and writer, am applauding the club’s decision to pause the game and issue a statement clarifying its dedication to the rights of LGBTQ+ communities.

You would be wrong.

If wearing a hat that carries a rainbow colored logo for one night is that offensive to their sensibilities, I’d prefer to know who those players are.

There has been a lot of outrage directed at both these minor league players, and the handful of MLB players who chose not to wear pride-themed hats, or who added the numerology of a Bible verse to their caps in protest, this month of all months. (Players are not contractually obligated to wear pride hats. The MLB has stated that writing on hats or uniforms violates the league’s policy regardless of the message.) U.S. Attorney General Harmeet Dhillon referred the league to the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission in a letter to the MLB commissioner, signaling an investigation into whether it has engaged in religious discrimination for calling out the players who wrote Bible verses on their Pride hats.

Some fans want the players punished. Some have questioned whether players who declined to participate should even be allowed to take the field on Pride Night, a consequence we saw play out in the case of the York Revolution. But I want them to be left alone.

The fact that a select few players are unwilling or are resistant to wearing pride-themed ball caps or jerseys doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is the idea that we need to pretend that everyone agrees, that everyone supports the progress and rights of LGBTQ+ people like myself.

Pride Night, a prominent tradition in the MLB since 2018, shouldn’t be about creating the illusion of universal support. Because that’s not a reflection of reality. There are those who support LGBTQ+ rights and those who don’t. And there are some who don’t care one way or another how people choose to live their lives — as long as it doesn’t impact or infringe on their ability to enjoy theirs. Why would baseball fans, or players, be any different in that regard?

More than anything, I would rather know where players stand. If wearing a hat that carries a rainbow colored logo for one night is that offensive to their sensibilities, I’d prefer to know who those players are, especially when it comes to the team I root for.

Now this isn’t an issue for all teams because not every team celebrating a Pride Night has special hats, and not every team organizes a Pride Night. The Dodgers has players who chose not to wear the Pride hats, without much incident. The Texas Rangers remain the only MLB team without a Pride Night at all.

Some people see these things as failures. I don’t. I see them as reminders that the fight for acceptance isn’t over.

Not to sound like a boomer here, but far too many younger members of the LGBTQ+ community have grown up in a world where acceptance is taken for granted. And while that may be comforting for them, it also means that many don’t realize what life was like just 25 years ago.

I remember. Twenty-six years ago, I walked into a MLB clubhouse to do my job.

Someone I didn’t know yelled, “F— in the locker room.”

It was just one sentence. One moment. I was terrified.

The message was clear: You’re not welcome here.

That moment pushed me into the professional closet for another 12 years. It nearly pushed me out of the sports media business altogether.

So when I hear people say baseball hasn’t done enough for the LGBTQ+ community, I understand the frustration. But I also understand how dramatically things have changed.

Twenty-six years ago, there weren’t Pride Nights; teams weren’t handing out pride hats; the MLB wasn’t openly celebrating LGBTQ+ fans. Today, 29 of the 30 MLB teams host Pride events. In these times, perspective is critical.

The fight is far from over, of course.

The fight is far from over, of course. Aside from the reported DOJ investigation into the league, Missouri Republican Sen. Josh Hawley wrote a letter to the MLB commissioner after the league warned players not to write on their Pride Night hats. Hawley said the league was attacking players’ rights to practice their Christian faith, adding fuel to the ongoing fight on the right to push back against LGBTQ+ rights.

Thus far, the MLB Players Association has been quiet when it comes to the Pride Night controversy. It has its own headaches in trying to avoid the sport’s first significant work stoppage since 1994-1995. That said, this could become an issue that finds its way into the next collective bargaining agreement.

Whether it ultimately becomes a bargaining issue remains to be seen. But the fact that we’re even having this conversation says something important about where baseball, and society, are in 2026.

Pride Nights were never meant to prove that everyone agrees. They were meant to show LGBTQ+ fans that they belong. The reality is that there will always be players, fans and teams that see these issues differently. As someone who spent years wondering if there was a place for me in the game I love, I don’t need every player to wear the hat. I just need baseball to continue making it clear that there’s room in the sport for people like me.